


Where The Shadows Fall

by disapparater



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bookseller Harry, Hermit Draco, M/M, Magical Creatures, Nepal, One Night Stands, Park Ranger Draco, Post-Hogwarts, Travel, Tree Houses, Yeti Hunter Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2313764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disapparater/pseuds/disapparater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years ago Draco left England without a second thought. Now Harry Potter has shown up on his doorstep looking for a yeti.</p><p><b>Career Choices:</b> Draco: On-site Roaming Upkeep Manager and Animal Observer/Hermit; Harry: Sourcer and seller of rare books/Yeti hunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where The Shadows Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phoenixacid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixacid/gifts).



> For [Prompt # 137](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/74208.html?thread=3566048#t3566048).
> 
> This prompt had me at "hermit!Draco" and was the driving force for the entire fic. Many thanks to the mods for accommodating me repeatedly pushing back the deadline on this. But really, you can thank my wonderful and wonderfully thorough beta for that (i know i do). More thanks to my other beta, for always being there.

The cool morning breeze blows past and Draco grips his hot cup of tea tighter in his hands. He loves mornings like this, so fresh they make him feel alive even while standing still. The quiet, too, is always welcome. Even though it's not quiet, not really. But the sounds are so natural, so routine, that it's the quietest Draco is ever going to get. If the rustling of leaves or the chirping of the birds ever stopped, if it were every truly silent, it would likely annoy Draco more.

This morning though, regardless of the refreshing breeze, the warm drink in his hands and the peaceful forest sounds, Draco is anxious.

He looks out at the trees, bare now they are no longer in bloom, but doesn't see them. Instead he is visualising the next month, in which his house, his life and his solitude will be disturbed. Draco won't be heading out to spend the morning in the forest with the Ollimpers or the Ronkers. He won't get to wander the 3000 square miles of protected land he cares for at whatever kind of leisurely pace he feels like. He won't get to cook himself a small meal to eat out here on the balcony later in the day. He won't get to relax with nothing but a good book and a glass of whisky as he curls up on the sofa in the evening.

It's not the first time such an event has taken place; Luna comes out for about a month every year. But Luna is safe. She knows the area, she often wanders off alone and doesn't burden Draco with her presence. Draco's routine stays largely intact when Luna is here. She's more of an occasional housemate than a house guest—Draco doesn't have to play host. This trip is different though. This time she's bringing someone else.

As Draco drops his head to look down at the ground far below him, he wonders why he even agreed to it. He hadn't been that drunk when Luna Floo-called to arrange it; he could have said no— _should_ have said no. But there is something about that woman, something— She's not like everyone else; Draco can actually stand to be around her. So when she said she had a friend who wanted to go searching for a Yeti, when her faced had filled with pure joy at the idea of daily expeditions up to the Himalayas, how was Draco supposed to refuse her?

After a quick glance at his watch, Draco drains his tea and heads back inside. It won't be long now. Luna had said they were catching a Portkey to Kathmandu at about a quarter past midnight, UK time, then she was Apparating them both to Draco's house. Which, if they don't hang around too long in Kathmandu (it's a very busy, heavily built up city, so Draco doesn't know why anyone would want to), means they will arrive downstairs at not long after 6:00 am.

Draco queried the timing, as they would likely want to go straight to bed as soon as they arrived, but Luna was thrilled at the prospect of jumping straight in to a full day as soon as she got here. He has to wonder if the woman has ever even heard the term 'jet-lagged'.

Once inside, Draco can't help but glance around his home, trying to view it from an outsider's perspective. His home may be small, but it's all he needs. There are only two bedrooms and one bathroom, all straight off the living room, with the kitchen at the back. The kitchen is Draco's favourite, solely because of the balcony. It's only large enough for one chair and a small table plus room to manoeuvre, but it's where Draco spends most of his time.

The house is nowhere near the grandness of the manor he grew up in, the manor he used to take pleasure in showing off to his friends. He wonders what impression this home gives people, what it says about him. He imagines that it is nothing good, and he hates himself for hating that. Logically, he knows— _knows_ —he doesn't give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks of his home, knows that that is exactly the kind of shit he moved here to get away from. Apparently it turns out getting away from it isn't simply a physical issue.

A sigh has barely passed Draco's lips when he hears it.

“We're here!”

He's heard that cry only three times before, but it still strikes Draco as strange to hear Luna announce her arrival with a 'we' rather than an 'I'.

Pasting on a smile, Draco heads back out and glances over the railing down to the forest floor below. Luna's bright blonde head is accompanied by a dark one, and Draco already can't wait for the month to be over.

Deciding to have a much fun as he can, Draco Apparates down directly behind them.

“Welcome to Dongbu Khangba.” Draco's words are innocuous enough, but as unexpected as they are, they make both his guests jump. His delight lasts only a fraction of a second.

Draco is helpless to the, “Potter,” that escapes his lips.

Just as the word, “Draco,” slips from Potter's mouth.

They stare at each other. Potter is wearing a frown that looks about as deep as Draco's feels. He hasn't seen Potter since the morning he left England, after they'd bumped into each other the night before, a little over four long years ago. It feels more than a bit odd having Potter on his doorstep now.

“Did I not mention this?” Luna's words break the spell and Draco turns to look at her. “Do you think maybe I should have?” She bites her lip. “Is it a problem?” She's looking at Draco as she speaks, and Draco has to wonder, is it?

A glance back over at Potter, standing dumbfounded and still frowning, tells Draco it will probably be awkward as hell. He turns back to Luna and shrugs before he's fully thought it through.

“What did you say, before?” asks Potter. “Dong Kabang?”

Despite himself, Draco smiles. “Dongbu Khangba.”

“What does it mean?”

“It's Sherpa for Tree House.”

“Oh.” Potter's understated reaction makes Draco think he might not be too much of a problem after all. Then of course Potter opens his mouth again. “So yeah, you live in a tree house?”

~

Once Draco and his guests climb up the rope ladder to his house, he shows them around. With only five rooms, it doesn't take long. Luna dumps her bag in the spare bedroom, where she stays when she's here. Potter stands in the living room, shifting from one foot to the other, and Draco can't help but relish a little in his discomfort.

“You've got the sofa, I'm afraid.” Draco finally puts him out of his misery.

“Thanks.” Rather than the put-out reaction Draco expected from him, Potter looks relieved and simply drops his bag to the floor as he flops down on to the cushions.

Draco had planned on Transfiguring the sofa into a bed once they'd all had a drink, but by the time Draco's made three cups of tea, Potter is snoring. Instead he and Luna drink their tea in the kitchen, catching up in whispers.

“How are the Mimbles?”

“They're fine. The baby's a beast now; I saw him eat a Klac whole last week. Where are you with the Goame hats?”

“I'm almost up to fifty. I've brought my knitting needles with me. It was slow going at first, but Hermione showed me a trick. Her knitting has improved since Hogwarts.”

“That's great. And Potter?”

Luna looks over the rim of her mug at Draco. “You said it wasn't a problem.”

“I shrugged. What was I supposed to do? Send him home?”

“Would you rather he went home?”

“He doesn't like it, either. This was a bad idea, Luna.” Draco expertly avoids Luna's question with facts.

“He might not have been expecting to see you, but he seems pretty calm about it, don't you think?” She uses her thumb to point over her shoulder, referencing the sleeping man in the next room.

“Why is he even here?” He throws a question back at her.

“Yetis,” is Luna's simple answer.

“Yetis,” repeats Draco.

All he gets in response is enthusiastic nodding from Luna. Any more information will apparently have to come from Potter himself.

He gives up. “Well, we won't be Yeti hunting today.” Draco takes a peek into the living room where Potter is still asleep. He's turned onto the front and is most likely drooling on Draco's cushions. “Unless you want to leave Potter behind?” Draco's voice is hopeful, even if he might be joking.

Luna kindly ignores him. “I think I'll head out for a few hours. Trek through the forest, see who's about.”

“It's too late in the season for Stunilliers; they'll be hibernating now. But Helga should be about somewhere. She's never too far away.”

“Ooh.” Without a backwards glance, Luna is gone. And that's one of the things about Luna that makes her bearable: a lack of meaningless pleasantries.

Feeling indulgent, Draco re-heats the undrunk cup of tea and heads out to the balcony to enjoy the last of his freedom for the next month. The breeze is slightly warmer now, and the quiet sounds of the forest are joined by Potter's snores, but Draco will take it.

~

Midday finds Draco reading quietly in the comfier of his two armchairs in the living room. Luna has come and gone again, practically skipping in her excitement to see all the creatures she has got to know over the years. Potter is still asleep on the sofa.

Draco has almost forgotten about him. At some point Potter must have rolled into a better position or fallen into a deep sleep, because his snoring has eased off a little. It isn't until Draco is immersed in his book that he can't help but be reminded of Potter's presence.

“What are you reading?”

Draco drags his eyes up from the page in front of him to find Potter laying on his side, hands under his cheek, calmly staring at Draco. He gets the impression Potter has been awake for a while.

“A book,” is Draco's reply.

Potter rolls his eyes.

Knowing he has the pleasure of Potter's company for the next month, Draco takes a mental sigh and decides to make an effort.

“So, Yeti hunting.”

The change in Potter's demeanour is immediate. He sits up, smiling, and begins rooting around in his backpack.

“They're very proud creatures, Abominable Snowmen. We'll have to take our time getting to know them. Show them we mean no harm and don't want to take anything from them—only to know them. But they're very elusive and won't be pinned down; Luna and I would never be able to find them on our own. We need someone who knows the land, knows how to track animals.” Potter pulls his arm out of his bag with a book clutched in his hand and looks at Draco. “Apparently we need you.”

Draco mock-bows from his position in the armchair. “I'm at your service.”

Potter smiles, but it's tight. It seems Potter doesn't like the fact that Draco needs to be a part of his Yeti hunt.

Motioning to Potter's hands, Draco asks, “What are you reading?”

“A book,” says Potter. Draco would like to think Potter is mocking him, but his voice lacks malice and he pulls the book close to his body.

Draco decides not to push. “Would you like some breakfast?”

This perks Potter up, and he nods. He looks at his watch. “It's nearly seven.”

“Quarter to one, actually. I suggest you get an early night, try and sleep off the jet lag and start fresh on Nepal time tomorrow.”

“That sounds sensible.” Potter pauses. Draco knows it's a pause because Potter's lips are slightly open, like he has more to say, but he needs to convince his brain to let him. “Draco, can we talk about that night—”

What Potter wants to talk about Draco doesn't find out, because Luna bursts in to tell them all about the Lutterwif plant she's seen, which obviously means there have to be Jimbles around, because Lutterwif is as tasty as chocolate frogs to them.

Discussion on food could only lead them in one direction. They ended up in the kitchen, where Draco and Luna cook spaghetti bolognese while Potter prattles on about Yetis.

Around the dinner table an hour later, stomachs full and plates empty, Draco goes over the plan.

“If we're going to manage to track down a Yeti in the time we've got, we can't bother with a three-day trek up the mountain. I've been; I know the mountains about as well as I know Annapurna, so I'll Apparate us there.” Draco pauses, expecting Potter to argue, but both he and Luna simply look at him, waiting for him to continue. “I've come across Yetis in the mountains a handful of times before, so, with no where else to start, we'll check those locations.”

Luna smiles and Potter nods, almost thoughtfully. Still they both listen. Draco's pleased, because he has some important things to say.

“When we land, don't move. Try not to fall over or even stumble—I'm sure you won't; you're both well-versed in Apparition, but of course a side-along is more disorientating. To find the Yeti we'll need to find tracks, so we want the ground as undisturbed by us as possible. What I'm trying to politely say here is: Don't move until I tell you to.”

Now Potter gives him a small smile and Luna nods serenely.

“What will the tracks look like? What will you be looking for?” Potter asks.

“Unfortunately it's not as simple as finding giant footprints in the snow,” Draco tells him. “It's about observation. Finding the evidence and putting the clues together. It's a little more sophisticated than looking for broken twigs and droppings, but it's the same idea.”

“And once we find a track?”

“We follow it. Hopefully we'll find a Yeti at the end of it. If we don't find a Yeti before we have to head back, we Apparate to that location the next day and carry on from the same spot, if we can pick the track up again.” Draco has covered the basics. He extends his hands palms up across the table, to indicate he has finished and is open to more questions.

“How long do you think it will take?” Potter's voice is hopeful.

Draco can only shake his head. “I can't say—I can't _know_. The Himalayas are huge, and they aren't exactly overrun with Yetis. We might be following a track for days and never see a Yeti. We might never find a track. Or, hell, we might Apparate in right behind a Yeti. It's impossible to know.”

Potter purses his lips, but remains silent. Draco wonders what answer he had expected. Draco is a tracker, not a Yeti expert.

“I have a question.” Luna's dreamy voice is a welcome delight. “Who wants pudding?”

~

With fruit salad and cream filling his stomach, Draco heads out to the woods. He makes it five steps away from the tree's trunk before he hears someone scuffling down the ladder behind him. With the grace of an Erumpent, Draco doesn't have to guess to know it's Potter.

“Where are you going?” asks Potter as he rushes to catch up with Draco.

“My rounds.” Draco doesn't slow down, but does allow Potter to catch him up.

“Rounds?”

“Didn't you know?” Draco had assumed Luna would have told him. “I don't just live in Annapurna—I work here.”

The way Potter's eyebrows rise tell Draco he had assumed wrong. “What do you do?”

“For all intents and purposes I am a Park Ranger. Except Annapurna is a conservation area, not a park, and I am an 'On-site Roaming Upkeep Manager and Animal Observer', not a Ranger.”

Only one of Potter's eyebrows has come down. “So, what do you do?”

Draco can't suppress a smile; it's as welcome as it is unexpected. “I maintain magical barriers for the National Trust for Magical Nature Conservation. There are Muggle repelling barriers in places, some are for safety, some for maintenance, but most are for monitoring.”

“Monitoring what?”

“The animals that pass through. Which ones, how many, how often, that sort of thing.”

“And what about the Animal Observer part of your job title?”

“That's on a more personal level. I watch and interact with the animals. I keep track of specific animals and make sure they're doing what we'd expect, are safe and not causing trouble. I'm a monitor of a different sort, I suppose.”

They reach the first magical barrier and Draco barely stops as he takes his wand out to throw up a maintenance and re-strengthening spell. He turns abruptly to the left, planning to go past Raife on his way to the next barrier, as usual. Potter stumbles, surprised at the sudden change in direction, but is still only a couple of steps behind Draco.

“And that's it?” asks Potter.

“That's it,” confirms Draco.

“Why do you have to live out here? Surely you could Apparate in regularly to make the checks?”

“I _could_ , but being on location is infinitely easier. The animals know me, and know where to find me, if they should want or need to.” Draco gets defensive at Potter's disbelieving frown. “It's happened. Lulu sat under the tree house whining until I came down, and she led me off to where Snell had slipped down into a ditch and couldn't get out.”

Somehow Potter's soft smile is even worse. “You really do know the animals, don't you?”

“Yes. I also know Annapurna, and I like living here. I chose to live here.”

Obviously sensing the defensiveness in Draco's voice, Potter wisely remains silent.

When they reach Raife's neck of the woods they find Raife running and jumping around, chasing a ball on a string wielded by an equally active Luna.

Draco takes a moment to smile and watch, then folds his arms across his chest.

“Luna, I've told you before not to get him too excited—his mood is _literally_ infectious and he'll have the entire forest unbearably excited before the sun goes down.”

Luna laughs, but stops running around. “He's always so neutral. Let him get excited once in a while, Draco. He'll soon wear himself out and fall asleep, then the rest of the animals will calm down, too.”

The fact that Luna is still waving the ball around behind her back does not escape Draco's notice. He knows damn well that no matter what he says Luna will do whatever the hell she thinks is best.

Throwing his hands up in mock defeat, Draco sighs. “Whatever. Have fun.” He only lets his smile loose when he turns away. Potter catches it, though, and grins right back at him.

Once they make it past the next barrier, Potter pipes up again.

“Is she always like that?

“Luna? You've met her, of course she is.” After a moment, Draco feels he should qualify his words. “I don't know what she's like back in England, but here she's constantly on the go. We usually only meet over meals or in passing, but every waking moment she can be, she's out here with the animals. She has a limited time here, and she certainly makes the most of it.”

“That sounds like Luna.” Potter's voice is warm, and Draco suspects he thinks as much of Luna as Draco does.

“Wait until she turns nocturnal.”

“What?”

Draco laughs. “For about a week every trip Luna takes to sleeping all day and venturing out at night. There are several nocturnal creatures out here, and she wouldn't be Luna if she didn't want to find out as much as possible about them and get to know them.”

Potter's smiles and nods his head in understanding.

Draco's afternoon continues in the same fashion. He takes his regular walk—a four mile route around the immediate area surrounding the tree house—with Potter in tow. Potter asks questions now and then, which Draco answers, but overall Potter is not a bother as he lets Draco do his job. Other than Luna sporadically popping up or following him for a little while, Draco has never had someone accompany him on his rounds, and it's not entirely unpleasant.

They are within sight of the tree house when Potter speaks again.

“What trees are these?”

The grin that slips on to Draco's face is automatic—he loves these trees. “Rhododendrons.”

“The shrub?”

“The same family as the shrub, yes, but these are trees. They're rarer, but far more magnificent.”

“So, this entire forest is a shrubbery?”

“No, they're trees,” Draco repeats, frowning slightly at Potter's pronunciation of 'shrubbery'.

Potter laughs and shakes his head. “Never mind.”

Politely ignoring Potter's oddness, Draco carries on. “They come out in full blossom in the summer, and it's breathtaking. From the house all I can see are shades of red and pink and purple, bright against the blue of the sky. From the ground, the blue of the sky is muted with the colours and the light is filtered with it. It's like being inside a kaleidoscope. And as the blossoms shed, the ground becomes littered with petals. For as long as the rain holds out, the entire forest is a colourful wonderland.”

It's the silence surrounding Draco's happy sigh that brings him back to his current surroundings—barren rhododendrons and Potter for company. He turns slowly to find Potter staring silently at him with a small smile and sharp, observant eyes.

Draco shrugs it off and keeps moving. Unfortunately, Potter doesn't let it drop.

“It obviously makes you happy. I remember seeing you smile like that once before.”

Draco doesn't need to ask when that was. Instead, he changes the subject.

“When we get back you should get to bed, get a head start on the jet lag.”

“What about you?” asks Potter.

“I have more work to do.”

“Can I come with you?” Potter sounds eager, but Draco's need to spend some time alone is growing.

“Jet leg, remember? You want to be awake and with it for Yeti hunting first thing in the morning.”

Potter almost pouts. “Fine, but can I come with you again next time?”

“Why?”

“I liked it. Spending time with you, talking.” Potter gives a small shrug. “We didn't do enough of that the last time I saw you.”

Draco halts in his tracks and turns to face Potter. “Go to bed. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Where are you even going?”

Cockily, Draco raises an eyebrow at Potter. “Annapurna is a lot larger than what we've just walked, you know.”

Leaving Potter standing at the tree house ladder, Draco Apparates to the furthest border of Annapurna.

~

By the time Draco gets back, Luna and Potter are sitting on the sofa eating sandwiches and chatting. Luna smiles and waves at him. Potter looks up at Draco tentatively.

“You should both be sleeping,” Draco tells them. He tries to be firm, but somehow can't manage it.

“We made you a sandwich,” says Luna.

Draco nods. “Thank you.”

With one satisfied nod, Luna stands. “Okay. I'm going to bed.” She reaches over to ruffle Potter's hair, then walks over to Draco and pats him on the arm as she passes. As she enters the spare bedroom she says, “Sleep tight,” before closing the door behind her.

There is silence for a few seconds, then Draco notices the blanket Potter has wrapped around his knees.

“You can transfigure the sofa into a bed, if you want,” says Draco.

Potter shrugs. “The sofa's quite comfy, actually.” As he speaks he picks up a cushions and gives it a demonstrative squeeze.

It's Draco's turn to shrug. “Okay then, but either way—sleep.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Eat my sandwich. Then I'll likely read for a while before going to bed.”

“Will you read in here, like before?”

Draco is a little taken aback by the question. “No, I won't disturb you. I'll read on the balcony.”

“Oh. Okay.” Potter looks down at the cushion that's now in his lap. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Potter.”

Draco heads to the kitchen and takes his sandwich and book out to the balcony.

As Draco savours his time to relax in solitude, he can't help but reflect on the day. It was strange, and more than unnerving, having Potter appear at his house and be asleep on his sofa within ten minutes. But really, it hadn't been too bad. Not as bad as Draco could have expected, anyway.

Draco takes a bite of his sandwich and remembers he still has the rest of the month to get through. This will no doubt get just as bad as he could expect.

Draco creeps through the living room in the dark a couple of hours later, even though there is no chance Potter would hear his footsteps over the row he is making with his nose.

~

The branches of the rhododendron trees spread, mutated in length and shape across the ceiling. The moon is bright tonight and Draco stares up at the shadows with wide eyes.

He never manages to sleep on the first night of having guests, but still he always tries. The idea that his tree house, his home, his sanctuary, is no longer his own always takes a while to adjust to. The fact that it is Potter spread eagle on his sofa only compounds the problem.

Refusing to toss and turn, Draco lays on his back observing the light play across the ceiling for a while longer before giving up. He gets up, deciding to watch the trees from the balcony with a cup of tea. He can start his routine several hours early, if he wants to.

Quietly, Draco slips out of his bedroom into the living room. The moonlight is streaming in through the two large windows, and Draco's eyes adjust easily to the extra light. He sees a couple of cushions discarded on the floor, and can't help but look up at Potter on the sofa.

With fewer cushions to block him, Potter has spread to fill the space. His arms are above his head, thrown over the arm of the sofa. One leg is bent at the knee and resting on the back of the sofa. Most noticeably though, Potter's blanket has slipped down to his stomach, revealing an expanse of chest.

Draco takes a step towards the kitchen door. That it is also in the direction of the sofa is merely coincidence. Another step and another. Within moments Draco is standing at the foot of Potter's make-shift bed, staring down at him.

Now, instead of watching the shadows of branches stretch across the ceiling, Draco is watching them play out across Potter's skin. It looks just as smooth, and just as soft. Potter breathes, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady, surprisingly silent rhythm, and Draco can't tear his eyes away from Potter's sleeping form this time.

Unprompted, Draco's eyes glide up Potter's chest, over his nipples and along his neck. When they reach his face Draco half expects to find Potter's eyes open and staring at him. He half expects a repeat. Instead Potter's eyelashes lay closed and still. His mouth is closed and his lips are relaxed. Draco takes a moment to bask in the image. Potter's mouth is so often smiling, talking and frowning, among other things, that it's a sight to savour.

As Draco's mind wanders, so do his eyes. They travel back down Potter's body, but stop abruptly when they spot a book laying open over one of Potter's legs. Remembering how protective Potter was over the book earlier that day, Draco peers closer to read the title.

The words _A Year With the Yeti_ and _Gilderoy Lockhart_ are clearly visible on the cover, along with the grinning face of the author. Draco's hand flies to his mouth to cover his own grin, lest it burst into a bark of laughter. _This_ is the book Potter's been using to research Yetis?

His initial reaction under control, Draco removes his hand from his mouth. His grin remains. He looks back up at Potter's face, which he now can't help but see in a different light. It's now the face of a man who voluntarily reads Gilderoy Lockhart books. Draco shakes his head in mild disbelief and, perhaps, a small amount of fondness.

Plans of tea on the balcony forgotten, Draco heads back to his bedroom. He slips under the covers and glances at the shadows on the ceiling before closing his eyes. He remembers the shadows on Potter's chest, the stillness of Potter's eyes and the slackness of Potter's mouth. The he remembers the book on Potter's lap and falls asleep with a smile on his face.

~

The next morning Draco wakes to the sight of light mist through his bedroom window. He knows what weather like that down here means for the likelihood of the weather up in the mountains, and takes a deep breath before getting out of bed.

When he steps out into the living room, he steels himself for a sense of déjà vu, but when he looks, Potter is not laying asleep on the on the sofa. Instead, Potter is pacing by the front door, snow trousers on and jacket in hand.

Obviously finely tuned to every noise and movement, Potter's head snaps in Draco's direction.

“When are we leaving?” The words tumble quickly from Potter's mouth.

As soon as Draco had seen the mist he had planned to call their first day's expedition off. Fighting through the wind and snow, it would be impossible for them to find any tracks. But at the sight of Potter, obviously so keen at the prospect of hunting for his Yeti, Draco hesitates.

“After breakfast. Have you eaten yet?”

Potter smiles and nods. He likely won't even listen to Draco until he's been up there and seen the shitty weather for himself. Draco is saving himself a fight, is all. That's what Draco tells himself as he walks to the kitchen and makes himself two rounds of toasts while eating a bowl of cereal.

As he eats, Draco can hear Potter pacing in the room next door. With a quick glance through the doorway, Draco sees Potter tapping his palms on his legs and nibbling on his bottom lip. His obvious excitement is both infectious and despairing.

Draco notes Luna's door is open, and wonders if she has already gone out. The prospect of dealing with a wound up Potter in a snowstorm up mountain with no hope of finding their own feet, let alone the track of a Yeti, alone, almost makes Draco give up and crawl back into bed.

Instead, Draco scrapes five minutes to himself with a cup of hot tea out on the misty balcony. It would have been 10 minutes, but Potter comes to find him to ask if he's ready to leave. With a sigh, Draco decides he should just get it over with.

They walk back to the living room, and Luna is waiting for them. Draco almost collapses with relief. She is ensconced in large, warm, waterproof gear, her hood already up. She smiles at Draco, and he finds it possible to smile back.

Once Draco and Potter get their own snow gear on they are ready, and Draco cannot drag it out any longer. He beckons his companions closer and, with their movements restricted by their clothing but their hands not yet gloved, holds the only part of them he can. With his left hand gripping Potter's right, Draco can feel how sweaty Potter's palm is. He wonders whether it is from warmth, nerves or excitement, but doesn't ask. Luna's palm is dry and she squeezes Draco right hand slightly.

Taking the prompt, Draco says, “Ready?” and Apparates them to the Himalayas.

~

Two hours later Draco Apparates the three of them to the ground beneath the tree house.

As soon as they land Potter snatches his hand back and turns away with a harsh, “I could've Apparated myself, you know.”

Draco takes a deep breath. He's been doing that a lot the last couple of hours. “Yes, you could, but did you notice the weather up there? It was safer for us to stick together and Apparate as one.”

With a huff, Potter spins back around. “We should still be up there. We should still be looking.”

“Looking for what, Potter? All anyone can see up there right now is snow. On the ground, in the air, all over your own face.” Draco rips off his coat.

“We could've moved, tried a different place. It—” Potter hesitates and the fight seems to go out of him. “It shouldn't be like this.”

Taking offence, as if Potter thinks it's his fault, Draco bitches right back at Potter. “Did you think it would be easy? What were you saying yesterday, about how elusive they are and how we'll have to take our time?” Potter recoils at Draco's words, and at the bitterness in his voice. Draco is driven on by it. “Did you expect they'd just show up to greet you like an old friend and you'd skip off into the sunset arm in arm? Is that what it's like in Lockhart's book?”

When the shame on Potter's face turns into shock and hurt, Draco stops. He wonders if perhaps he went too far, but it's too late to take it back. Pride getting the better of him for the first time in years, Draco turns his back on the entire situation and climbs the ladder up to the house.

In his bedroom, while putting his snow gear away, Draco hears Luna and Potter come up and move around in the living room outside. Draco sits on the end of his bed with his head in his hands, prepared to take refuge in his room for a while. Instead, about 10 minutes later, two sets of footsteps can be heard before the front door is opened and then closed.

The idea that Potter and Luna might have left drives Draco to his feet and out into the living room. He only releases his breath when he spots Potter's rucksack on the floor and his snow clothes piled haphazardly on the sofa. A glance into Luna's room shows her belongs still there.

Shaken, Draco heads to the kitchen to make a strong cup of tea.

Only after two cup of tea and 20 minutes on the balcony does he calm down enough to corral his thoughts.

The silence—of the wind in the trees and the birds singing and the forest living—is welcome, and Draco basks in it. This is why he's here. The peace and solitude. The drama with Potter, the pressure of other people's emotional highs and lows, Draco inability to deal with that... Draco thought he had got away from it. Here, all he has to deal with is himself, his own emotions, and Annapurna. Even his own emotions, with Potter here, are driving Draco crazy. A little over 24 hours and Draco is wondering about a move to Mongolia.

Two more cups of tea and three ginger biscuits later Draco stands in the kitchen cooking. When all else fails, vegetables and a sharp knife can help work out the stress.

By the time Luna and Potter come back Draco has eaten lunch and retreated to the balcony with a new book. He hears them chatting and helping themselves to food behind him in the kitchen, but does not turn around.

While they wash the pots—Luna washing, Potter drying, he knows because he can hear Potter complaining about how much he hates it—Draco slips by them and out the front door to go on his rounds. This time, Potter does not join him.

Draco takes his time out in Annapurna, taking comfort in his routine. He stops to fuss over every creature he comes across, double checks every barrier and takes great care with his steps. He's not at all putting off heading back to the tree house.

What eventually drags Draco back home is the weak excuse of offering Luna some different company, after she's spent the day alone with Potter.

When Draco walks through his front door it is to find Potter, alone, reading quietly. He glances up at Draco, eyes carefully blank, before going back to his book. Grateful to have avoided a confrontation he thought was inevitable, Draco heads through to the kitchen.

Instead of making himself the cup of tea he craves, Draco joins Luna on the balcony.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks her. If one is to find Luna outside, it will be down in the forest, amongst the trees and the animals. She rarely uses the balcony.

“Waiting for you to come and hide.” She looks at Draco, face carefully neutral.

“I'm not hiding,” Draco insists.

“It's not that bad, Draco.”

“What isn't?”

“Our company.” As she speaks she rocks sideways and nudges Draco with her shoulder.

Draco knows she knows damn well he's not avoiding _her_. But with a put-upon sigh, he nudges Luna back. 

The rest of the evening Draco sits in the armchair opposite Luna and adjacent to Potter, who is perched on the sofa. They are all absorbed in their own books. Luna her notebook and Potter a non-Lockhart book on Yetis. Draco wonders if he's trying to make a point or whether he was truly upset at Draco's words. Then he tells himself he doesn't care, and gets back to his own reading.

The time passes quickly, and before heading to bed, Draco takes a deep breath and tells himself this is just one month—he can do this.

~

Nothing really changes for the next few days. Potter continues to be sullen and withdrawn and Draco continues to avoid engaging him unless it's necessary. Luna, who is fazed by nothing, continues being Luna.

They go back to the mountains each day. The time they spend there varies depending on the weather, which continues to be poor. Even on the days they can see each others' faces, they still find no tracks. Draco takes them to a different spot each day, not that any of them would be able to tell. It's all white, often windy and occasionally stormy.

The lack of progress keeps Potter in his quiet and withdrawn mood. Draco doesn't mind at all. It's something that he can actually cope with. Neither of them are hostile to the other. They don't speak to each other unless they need to. (“Where do you keep your spare toilet paper?” is Draco's personal favourite from Potter, while Draco's own worst had been, “You don't have a nut allergy or anything, do you?”)

Draco isn't angry with Potter, not like he was after that first trip to the mountains, and he believes Potter isn't angry with him, either. Potter seems to simply still be in a snit about it, and the fact that the Yeti hunting is not improving is keeping him in his snit. Potter's moodiness radiates off of him, but he's doesn't moan or bitch or make sarcastic comments, which Draco appreciates. He could easily handle three more weeks of a sulky Potter if he keeps this quiet about it. It is not at all what Draco would expect from Potter (the git never could control his emotions), but he's more than grateful for it.

~

Once the first week is over, Draco decides they should take a break.

“We're taking a break,” he tells Luna and Potter over breakfast at the kitchen table in the morning. When he gets two small frowns from them in return, he clarifies. “We're taking a break from Yeti hunting.”

Potter's despondence is so strong at this point, he doesn't even protest—just sighs and looks down at his cereal.

“The weather is going to be even worse over the next couple of days—rain and thunderstorms, even down here. But after that passes, it should improve. When we get back up there it should be immensely clearer, and we'll have a lot more chance—as well as time—to pick up some tracks.”

Luna smiles and nods. “That sounds like a sensible idea. And it'll give me more time to look for Leffs.”

“Luna, I've told you—” Draco rolls his eyes. “—they don't exist.”

“Hmm,” is Luna's thoughtful response.

Potter doesn't say anything. He simply sits there, slowly eating his cereal.

Once they've finished breakfast, Draco pushes back his chair and gets up.

“I have some work to do out in Annapurna. It'll likely keep me away until early afternoon, but you two can come and go as you please; use the extra time as you'd like.”

Luna practically jumps up out of her chair to announce, “I'm coming with you!”

Potter rises slowly and casually tells them, “I think I'm going to just relax and write some letters to friends back home.”

Draco nods once to both of them and heads to the door. As he leaves he quietly mumbles, “Not that you'll have much to tell them.” He half hopes that Potter doesn't hear him.

~

As they walk through the forest, Draco feels Luna sticking close behind him. He shakes his head and smiles fondly.

“Even if they did exist, what makes you think walking right on my heels would help you spot them more easily?”

“They like you. If I'm going to spot them anywhere, it will be when I'm with you.”

“With me, not getting a piggy back from me.” Draco purses his lips. “Not that I'm saying they do like me; they can't, because they don't exist.” Now Draco lets loose a breath of laughter.

“Yes, they do. Why won't you just admit it?” Despite her words, Luna steps back slightly. She also lightly punches Draco on the arm as the distance between them increases. “It's nice to see you more relaxed,” she continues, coming into step beside him.

“More relaxed than what?” Draco asks, puzzled. “I'm always relaxed. I live and work in this paradise.” He motions to the trees surrounding them, and beyond.

“You've not been relaxed at all since Harry and I arrived.”

“That's not—”

“You haven't. I can tell, you know. You freaked out when we arrived, you were nervous about taking us up to the mountain. You shouted at each other, then completely ignored each other. It's not hard to see, Draco.”

“That I'm not relaxed?”

Luna nods. “That you're anxious. But it's not just you, you know.”

“Why would you be anxious?” Draco asks, purposely trying to avoid where he now knows this conversation is going.

It doesn't work. Luna stares up at him with unimpressed eyes as they walk. Where she learnt to give that intense a look and not stumble at the same time, Draco doesn't know.

“Harry,” is all she says.

“What about him?” If Luna insists on having this discussion, Draco refuses to make it easy for her.

“He's anxious too. As well as stressed, worried, nervous.”

“You're just describing what anxious is.”

“He's really bloody anxious, Draco.” Luna rarely swears, so even a word as tame as 'bloody' makes Draco turn and listen. “You might both be finding this uncomfortable and difficult, but at least you're familiar and comfortable with your surroundings. At least you can run off into the woods or hide on your balcony. This is all completely foreign to Harry.”

Draco resists pointing out that as he is still a British citizen this is all, technically, still completely foreign to him as well.

“It's not easy for Harry. You don't have anything invested in this Yeti hunt, but Harry—he's had a bit of an obsession with Yetis for a few years now. It really means a lot to him. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, dropping in out of no where to find one, but how hard it is has come is a bit of a shock. He had his hopes so high that he would be able to find and befriend a Yeti, but so far he's got nothing to show and time is already slipping away from him.” She sighs lightly. “All I'm saying is, it's difficult for him too. Can you try and remember that, and go easy on him?”

Draco sighs loudly, trying to act affronted. “Potter needs to buck the fuck up. He's chasing a bloody Yeti, not his one true love.”

Luna is less than impressed. “See you later, Draco.” And as Draco carries on walking East, Luna turns and heads South.

~

The next day it rains. A lot.

It starts in the night, hard enough to wake Draco with its thrashing at the windows. With the sound of the wind whipping through the air as well, the rain must be crashing against every window in the house. He idly wonders if Potter and Luna have also been woken. Or maybe Potter is laying out on the sofa sound asleep, like he was the first night.

Draco soon falls back to sleep.

When Draco wakes again it is to Luna shaking his arm and waving a cup of tea above his face. He accepts the tea gladly, but is less receptive to the shaking. In protest, he attempts to drink his tea without sitting up. After the first sip he mentally schedules time to change his bed sheets.

With an exaggerated sigh, Draco sits up. “What is it?”

“It's raining!” cries Luna.

Belatedly, Draco registers the sound of rain, still throwing it down outside. “And why is that so exciting?”

“Tillies! I've only seen a couple since I got here, but they love the rain, there should be tons of them out there wriggling around in it by now. Are you coming?”

Eyes wide with horror, Draco glances towards the window. “You're going out in that?”

Luna nods.

“Voluntarily?”

Luna nods harder. “Are you coming?” she asks again.

“I cannot state my 'no' strongly enough.”

“Suit yourself. I'll tell you all about it when I get back, and then you'll regret not coming.” And with that she is skipping out the door.

Draco watches her go without a single pang of regret. Instead, he settles down a little further in bed and enjoys his tea and the sound of the rain.

By the time he has finished his tea and is bored of the sound of the rain, Draco gets out of bed and tosses on some warm and comfy clothes. It's only when he throws open his bedroom door that he remembers Potter.

Potter is snuggled up at one end of the sofa under his blanket, knees drawn up to his chest with a book balanced on them. He glances up at Draco, but quickly turns his attention back to his book. Draco watches him for a few seconds, and sees that Potter's eyes are not moving—he is only pretending to read his book.

Luna's words from the day before echo around Draco's head. It's obvious how down Potter is, and all Draco is doing is making it worse for both of them by continuing to act as though Potter may as well not be there.

Sighing and already cursing himself, Draco heads determinedly to the kitchen. Just before he reaches the door, he turns his head and calls, “Tea?” over his shoulder to Potter.

Potter takes a second to reply, but when he does, his, “Yes please,” is laced with grateful surprise.

Draco takes the few minutes in the kitchen to compose himself, as well as make tea. He doesn't know why he feels so bothered—it's only Potter. Luna's plan had obviously worked, the evil witch, and she's got to Draco more than he'd realised.

As he brings the two mugs of tea out to the living room, Draco hands one directly to Potter, who offers his muttered thanks. Draco then moves to sit himself and his tea in one of the armchairs. But at the last minute he notes the empty space beside Potter, and inadvertently his bottom falls into it.

Like a cat who stumbles but would never admit it, Draco acts like dropping down beside Potter was his plan all along. He casually throws an elbow over the arm of the sofa and crosses his legs as elegantly as he can. The only indication that Potter has noticed anything strange is the slight tightening of his arms' grip on his knees.

With no where else to start, Draco opts for, “I'm sorry I took the piss out of your book.”

 _A Year with the Yeti_ is now laying open on the coffee table, apparently having been the book Potter was reading when Draco came in. It seems Potter is less ashamed of his book, now his secret is known.

“But still, _Lockhart_?” Draco can't help it.

Potter shrugs, obviously still somewhat embarrassed. “I know it's Lockhart, and he didn't do any of the things in there—or any of his other books—that he claims to, but _someone_ did. The poor sod he stole the memories of really did live with a Yeti for a year. Gained its trust, got into its life, became close with it. And that's what fascinates me.”

“I haven't read the book, but that sounds like a lot like bestiality.” Draco is only half joking.

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don't.” He really doesn't. Why would anyone want to put so much time and effort and emotional energy into searching for and befriending a single creature?

“It's not about the Yeti, it's about what the Yeti is,” Potter tries to explain.

“But, the Yeti's a Yeti.”

“Are you trying to be obtuse?” It sounds like Potter's patience is getting thin.

“No, I just don't understand.”

“Then read the book.” Harry picks it up, spilling some of his tea in the process, and pushes the book into Draco's hands. “Thanks for the tea.”

Potter has apparently given up on explaining it himself, and Draco is shocked enough to stand and leave, the book still clutched in one hand and his unfinished cup of tea in the other.

Back in his room, Draco flops down on the bed. He spills more tea in the process, but his sheets are already ruined anyway. He pays more attention to the book, and to Potter's voice replaying in his head.

Potter had sounded more annoyed and fed up in that one sentence than he had during the many he had uttered after that first day on the mountains. He sounded almost cold. That was what shook Draco the most. Potter could be annoying as hell, but he was always passionate. In the end, that's what had driven Draco to make the cup of tea and re-engage with Potter—not Luna's words, but what Luna's words had made him unable to ignore any longer. The lack of heat in Potter's voice as he had told Draco to read his book had unnerved Draco more than Harry shouting at him to read it would have done.

So, he reads the book.

Not cover to cover—despite everything it _is_ still a book by Lockhart—but enough to see what Potter had been trying to get at.

When Draco re-emerges from the bedroom an hour and a half later, Potter is sitting in the same place. He still has his knees pulled up, but now his head rests on them. His face is turned away; he's watching the rain as it hits the window, not with quite as much force as earlier, and runs down the glass.

“Okay,” says Draco, drawing Potter's attention. “I get it. I don't know why you're fixated on Yetis, but I understand what you meant about the book.”

Potter rests his chin on his arms, looking up at Draco.

“This wild, untameable creature. The honour and privilege of getting close to it, when so few have. I see why you would want to do that.”

Potter looks pleased, and appeased. Draco perches on the arm of the sofa; he could still piss Potter off, yet.

“But Yetis? You know Gruglies are just as prickly and independent, while being infinitely easier to find.”

Instead of the bristly dismissal Draco expects, Potter gives a thin smile. “It's not about how hard it is to find them.”

~

The next day the sun is blazing. Light streams into the tree house and all three of them wake early.

As Draco makes a pot of tea he can feel Potter's hesitant excitement as he sits eating his breakfast at the table. He's eating too fast, and occasionally tapping his fingers on the tabletop. While Potter's silent sulking was easy for Draco to ignore, this show of happy emotion is hard to not notice. Draco smiles indulgently and rolls his eyes with his back to Potter, but makes his face carefully blank as he turns and puts the teapot on the table.

“You're ready to get back on track with some Yeti hunting, then?” asks Draco mildly, as though he doesn't already know the answer.

“Yes,” Potter answers earnestly.

By the time they've all kitted themselves out in their snow clothes, they are sweating with the heat. When they make it to the mountain, the cold air is welcome. The novelty soon wears off, though. The sky might be clear, and the wind might be mild, but they are still half way up a mountain, which isn't exactly the place for sunbathing.

Once Draco gives the all clear for Luna and Potter to move around behind him, they begin pacing and moving to keep warm. For his part, Draco keeps himself distracted by searching for tracks.

By mid-afternoon, they have played word games as they walked, stopped to eat their packed lunch and Apparated to different spots on the mountains three times, but they still haven't found a Yeti. Draco picked up a few tracks, but it didn't take them long to come to dead ends, or stumble upon a different animal altogether.

Somehow, Draco isn't disheartened. In fact, he's quite hopeful. If the weather remains clear and they head out every day, there is a pretty good chance they will at least _see_ a Yeti, even if Potter doesn't get the chance to become best friends forever with one. Draco doesn't voice that thought to Potter, though.

Despite the fact that, on the face of it, they are no closer to finding a Yeti, the mood of the trio improves substantially. By the time they get home, there are more smiles, more shared cups of tea and more conversation.

Shockingly, after the week they have shared, Potter decides to join Draco on his daily walk to check the barriers, and, more shockingly, Draco lets him. Potter almost bounds along, and his hopefulness is almost tangible. Draco tries not to let Potter see him smile about it.

Potter is silent for much of the journey. Draco doesn't mind. It's a nicer silence than they have enjoyed for most of the last week. It's lighter, more friendly. It doesn't coming with the nagging feeling that Draco has caused it.

With only one mile and seven barriers to check before they get back to the tree house, Potter finally breaks his silence to ask Draco a question.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?” Draco asks.

“Tracking,” says Potter simply. “How can you tell one misshapen indent of snow from another? How can you tell which direction the thing that made it was moving in? How can you tell it's a fresh enough track to follow?”

“Practise, mostly. I've been doing this for three years.” Draco shrugs off the impressed tone in Potter's voice—it unnerves him. “After spending enough time around animals you see how they move, how they interact with their surroundings. I'll admit I've not done as much tracking in snow, but the principle is the same.”

“And what about tracking Yetis? Is there anything in particular you're doing?”

“Having never tracked a Yeti before, no.” Draco falls silent to consider the idea for a few moments. “Though I suppose, with Yetis being closer to humans in intelligence than Tromps or Bolgos, there might be different ways of thinking about the evidence the tracks provide.”

“What do you mean?”

“A Yeti may have more specific motivations. Tromps run when they're surprised by a loud noise, Bolgos shit where they're standing when the urge strikes them. Yetis... Yetis would be more considered in their actions. If they started running, it would more likely be to get somewhere, rather than to run away.” Draco looks up at Potter, who is listening avidly. “You need to understand what the Yeti was doing, and why it was moving. That will help you understand its tracks, its motivations and where it might be now.”

Potter nods thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”

~

The next evening, while Luna is out frolicking with Murps, Potter slips into the kitchen to help Draco cook.

The previous evening, after their return from Draco's rounds, Potter had sat at the kitchen table, watching and chatting idly while Draco moved around the kitchen preparing their dinner. This time, without prompting, Potter selects a knife from the rack, steps up to the chopping board and begins slicing peppers as Draco places them down after giving them a wash under the tap. Instead of commenting, Draco moves to the stove and begins working on the sauce.

Just as out in the forest the previous day, they work in silence. The only sounds are the mild bubbling of the sauce and the sharp slice of the knife through the vegetables.

Half an hour later there is nothing left to do but occasionally stir the sauce or the rice. With a pot each, Draco and Potter stand side by side at the hob. Replace the hob with a bar, and their pans with glasses of whisky, and Draco would be transported back to his last night in England.

As if reading his mind, Potter says, “You left.”

Staring down into the chili sauce, Draco slowly nods. “If felt like the right thing to do. England was still recovering from the war—it wasn't the right place for me any more.”

“That's not what—” Instead of finishing, Potter sighs.

Draco has a feeling he knows what.

“So you came here?” Potter asks, apparently leaving his previous question behind.

“No.” Draco's answer is straightforward. “I travelled a while, first. Moving felt good. Then I got to Tibet.” He leaves it there, unsure how much Potter actually wants to know.

“And?” Potter wants to know more.

“And I stopped moving.” Draco gives a one shoulder shrug as he carries on stirring. “I had space and peace and quiet in Tibet; I had what I needed.”

“You couldn't find what you needed in England?” Potter's voice is quieter and he doesn't look up from his attentive stirring of the rice. “There wasn't anything else in England you wanted?”

Even though Potter isn't looking, Draco shakes his head.

Potter must sense the motion, because he asks, “What was in Tibet that you couldn't find in England?”

“It wasn't what _was_ there so much as what wasn't," Draco answers honestly.

This draws Potter's attention and Draco receives a look of patient curiosity.

So he continues. “A lack of the hum drum of everyday life. A lack of expectations—to be a certain person, to want certain things, to strive for a certain lifestyle. In England I could only ever be what other people expected me to be. In Tibet—and here in Nepal, in Annapurna—I can be who I am—who I choose to be.”

“And who is that?” Potter's voice is a barely audible whisper now.

Draco smiles, almost to himself. He looks over at Potter, who is standing so close now, waiting for Draco's answer.

Before Draco can speak they are both distracted by the bubble and hiss as the pot of rice boils over. They rush to clear the mess and serve up the food. Their conversation does not get picked up.

~

Later that evening, after they have eaten and when Luna has returned from whatever wandering trip she was on, the three of them sit around in the living room. Draco is sipping at a cup of tea and going over some information he's been putting together for his work. Potter is writing furiously, whether letters home to his friends, a diary or thorough notes of the so far uneventful Yeti hunt, Draco doesn't know.

The most curious thing, the thing that keeps distracting Draco, is Luna. She isn't doing anything. She isn't reading, or writing, or mumbling to herself. She is simply sitting quietly and _watching_. Draco glances up every few minutes to find her staring mildly at either him or Potter.

Draco takes a few moments to really look at Potter, to figure out what Luna could be looking at. All Draco sees is a—admittedly rather attractive—look of concentration on Potter's face.

Still baffled, Draco drags his eyes away and looks at Luna. This time he catches her moving her gaze from Potter to Draco, then slowly back again.

When Potter puts down his pen and paper and stands up, both Luna and Draco's eyes turn to him.

“I quite fancy an evening stroll,” he tells them. “I shouldn't be long.”

“Oh, Harry, shall I come with you?” asks Luna, casting a brief glance to Draco before moving to stand.

“No, no. It's fine. I want to go alone, actually. For... For some space and peace and quiet.” Now it's Potter's turn to glance in Draco's direction. He doesn't miss the fact that Potter is echoing Draco's words from earlier, nor that he wants Draco to know that.

Potter's exit leaves Draco and Luna alone. Luna smiles serenely across the coffee table at him, and Draco smiles back.

“Let's play exploding snap,” suggests Luna.

Draco's smile drops from his face. “Exploding snap? What are we, six years old?”

“It's fun.”

“It's juvenile.”

“Those two things can be synonymous.”

Draco rolls his eyes. Luna takes that as a yes and pulls out a deck of cards. As reluctant as Draco had been, when the first matching cards explode, he laughs freely and Luna gives him a smug smile.

“You've loosened up a lot, I like it.” Now Luna's smile is warm.

“Loosened up compared to what?” Draco asks, before grinning as the card he just put down blows up.

“Compared to the other times I've visited. You'd never have even played Exploding Snap last year, let alone enjoy it.”

“I _told_ you it was juvenile. Besides, I'm not enjoying it.”

“Yes you are. I think you're genuinely starting to enjoy having company—mine _and_ Harry's.”

Draco ponders Luna's words but doesn't reply.

When the next cards explode, it still amuses Draco, but his smile isn't quite as wide. Instead he focuses on the happiness he feels—the lightness inside of him, the urge to smile. Has his reconciliation with Potter played a part in that? He supposes it has. Not having a moping Potter dragging his heels around the place would cheer anyone up.

Potter's not so bad, generally, Draco concludes. They've made a start already, so Draco figures he may as well make the rest of the month as easy as possible. Logically, Draco sees the next step as enquiring about Potter's life. That's what people do, isn't it? It's only polite.

~

The next few days pass quickly and in good cheer. They even start to have fun on the trips up to the mountains, though none of the tracks lead them to a Yeti. Draco shows both Potter and Luna some tips for tracking. Neither of them pick it up easily, but it doesn't matter—that's what Draco's there for, after all.

With Luna often out and about, utilising every moment she can to study one animal or another, Draco and Potter are often left with each other for company. Potter becomes a regular on Draco's afternoon rounds, and his chef's aid in the kitchen.

It's on one of their barrier-checking walks that Draco remembers his decision to show some interest in Potter's life.

“So,” Draco begins, not sure exactly how to start small talk. “What do you do when you're not Yeti hunting?”

“You mean work?” Potter asks, sounding surprised to have been asked.

“I mean whatever you did before you arrived here. Job, hobbies, habits. I'm showing an interest. I've been out of the loop for a while, but that's still the polite thing to do, right?” Draco feels genuinely worried for a few seconds.

Potter's smile is small, but it's a smile all the same. “Yes,” he says, “that's the polite thing to do.”

“So then...?” Draco rolls his hand, waiting for Potter to actually answer his question.

“When I'm not Yeti hunting, or poring over books about Yetis, or talking someone's ear off about Yetis, I sell books for a living.”

Draco can't prevent the look he gives Potter, and Potter must be psychic, because he knows exactly what the look is asking.

“No, not Lockhart's books; you can find those any bloody where. I source and sell rare or out of print books. It's not as exciting as it sounds. Mostly I send a lot of letters, occasionally make a trip. I got into it after searching for a book myself—a rare volume on Yetis, predictably.”

“Yet _A Year with the Yeti_ is still the book you treasure?” Draco is genuinely puzzled.

“Are you ever going to let it go?”

“Unlikely.”

Potter sighs.

“So, Yetis, books, and what else?”

“I spend time with my friends. Mostly Ron and Hermione, but—”

“There's a but?”

“They're just—they're together, and they're happy. They're nauseatingly happy. But they can't leave it at that. They want everyone around them to be nauseatingly happy, most notably me. They are overly encouraging about me finding what they have.”

“Frizzy hair and freckles?”

“Someone. Someone to be so in love with that it makes everyone else feel sick.”

“And, ah—” Draco has to ask. “How's that going?” He hates himself a little for being remotely interested in Potter's answer.

Potter shrugs. "It's not that I don't agree with them, I just don't like being told what do to. So, I did begin looking for a man. Got pretty obsessed with one, actually. He just happens to be tall, covered in blond hair and lives in the middle of nowhere."

Draco turns and raises an eyebrow a Potter.

"I'm talking about the Yeti," he clarifies.

The subject is swiftly changed, but Draco can't help thinking about Potter's reaction to his question. He was joking about the Yeti, but is that because he didn't want to talk about it at all, or because he wants someone despite his frustration at his friends' interference?

Draco brushes it off—it doesn't matter, anyway. And who knows, if this friendliness between them keeps up, Potter might yet confide in him.

~

It's during their third week's expeditions into the Himalayas that their luck strikes. Draco is sure the deep rivets in the snow and the short white hairs caught on branches have been left by a Yeti. Potter is surprisingly sceptical.

“How can you tell? They don't look any different to the tracks and trails we've been following for days. You know, the ones that have only led to dead ends or Pamplies.”

Draco shakes his head. “These _are_ different,” he insists.

“Harry, he is the expert,” Luna adds.

The way Potter bites his lip betrays his nerves—that he doesn't want to raise his hope too high.

“It's small, but when it come to tracking the tiny details are the most important.” Draco tries to sound reassuring. He points at the evidence in front of them. “Look.”

Potter looks. “They look the same as all the others,” he says in a pained voice.

“Trust me. This is why you need me, remember?”

Draco moves on, following the tracks, and Potter doesn't protest.

~

It isn't until the next day that Draco gets to prove himself right. He can tell they're getting closer; the tracks are fresher, more crisp and less disturbed by the elements.

“It won't be long now,” he tells Potter and Luna.

Luna smiles broadly, excited as she always is to see a new and fascinating creature. Potter isn't as disbelieving as he was the previous day, but he's also not as excited as Draco would have thought he'd be. He is biting his lip and simply nods his head repeatedly in response to Draco's words.

“Stop,” commands Draco.

Well-versed in following Draco's instructions on when they can and cannot move on the mountains, both Potter and Luna stop instantly.

“You need to calm down.” Draco directs his words at Potter.

Potter's reply of, “I am calm,” is an octave too high.

“The nervous energy is radiating off you. I can feel it, and any creature will feel it. A wild creature? A _Yeti_? Will sense it before it sees you, and either run a mile or attack.” He looks Potter in the eye and repeats, “You need to calm down.”

“I'm nervous.” Potter states the obvious.

Draco closes his eyes and wishes for calm. “And you need to not be.”

Potter nods. Several times, as he fidgets from one foot to the other and wrings his gloved hands. “I can do that.”

“Let's break for an early lunch,” Draco suggests.

Food and time help ease Potter's nerves. The leg he's twitching as they sit down slows and eventually stops, his hands are kept busy with sandwiches and the nodding is kept to a minimum.

When they get moving again, Draco keeps close to Potter, the padded arms of their snow jackets brushing.

Then suddenly they are turning a corner and they stop, because there it is. What Potter has been wanting to see for so long, what they've been searching for for weeks. A Yeti.

The three of them stand in a line, slightly hidden by the corner they haven't fully turned, silently watching.

The Yeti is rubbing at the snow on the side of the mountain, the white hair of its arms getting caught on the bare branches of a plant. Without any clear culmination to its task, it stops and walks forward several steps before bending, picking something off the ground, smelling it and placing it in its mouth. It then stands, stretches and scratches its arse.

Draco hopes Potter is enjoying this magical moment.

Drawing his eyes away from the creature in front of them, Draco turns to observe Potter. His gaze is transfixed on the Yeti. He no long radiates nervous energy. Instead his whole being is focused ahead, on the creature he came here to find. He's obviously in awe, and Draco feels a deep satisfaction to have been the one who helped Potter get here.

But there's something else. Under the shock and amazement in Potter's face, under the caution in his stance, there is an air of uncertainty. As Draco continues to watch, the attentive look in Potter's eyes is joined by the slight drawing of his brow, and the slackness of his mouth is lessened by the slight down turn at the corners.

~

Later that day, after they've watched the Yeti potter about the mountain for a few hours with no discernible goal, they head back to the tree house. They stayed later than usual, due to their success, and when they get back Luna offers to throw some food together while Draco heads out on his rounds.

Abandoning his friend to face the kitchen alone, Potter trails along beside Draco as has become usual. And this time it doesn't take long for him to get talking.

“There was only one.”

With so little to go on, Draco refrains from commenting yet.

“I mean, shouldn't there be more? A family of them? A herd or whatever.”

“A herd of Yetis? I thought you were a Yeti expert.”

“I am, but I've never come across a term for a group of them.”

“So then what does that tell you about the strangeness of finding a sole Yeti? About whether there _should be_ more?”

Potter screws up his face and looks at the floor. “It's not right.”

“Why does it matter? We found a Yeti; that's what you wanted.”

“Yeah, but the book says they're social creatures; that they live in groups. So why is this one on its own?”

“'The book'—you mean Lockhart's book?” Draco asks, sceptically.

Potter absent-mindedly nods while Draco resists the urge to rip the piss out of his obsession with that book _again_.

“It's called _A Year with the Yeti_ —singular.” Draco points out. “Where was _that_ Yeti's family?”

“Lockhart said it must have been abandoned or the lone survivor of an avalanche.”

“Lockhart?” Draco questions. “Or the person who _actually_ spent a year with the Yeti?”

“I—I don't know,” Potter admits.

“So, it could be a load of kyakpa that Lockhart pulled out of his arse.”

Potter opens his mouth to reply, but hesitates and shuts it again—he's obviously not so sure any more.

“I've stumbled upon Yetis two or three times up in those mountains and they've _always_ been alone.”

Potter frowns and doesn't reply.

Draco lets him be, assuming it will take some time for Potter to reassess the thoughts and assumptions he'd made about Yetis. But Draco finds himself bothered about how bothered Potter is about this. So Yetis are solitary creatures. Why does it even matter? Why does Potter care so much?

~

After eating Luna's cobbled together 'Sweetcorn Surprise' (which Draco was less than surprised to discover involved a lot of sweetcorn), Draco settles down to read in the living room. Luna and Potter are pulling on their shoes to head out again.

Luna had mentioned she wants to go out at night more, and Draco recognises the pattern—soon she will be sleeping all day and out making friends with the nocturnal creatures at night. When Potter had asked to go with her, Draco had warmed quickly to the prospect of an evening alone and immediately put the kettle on to boil.

When the door shuts behind them, Draco feels his shoulders sag as the tension he hadn't realised he was carrying in them departs. It's not that he doesn't like Luna (and hell, even Potter isn't bad to have around—to look at, if nothing else), but by now he's so used to having his own space, his own time to relax and think and _be_ , that it's a relief to have that back again, if only for an hour or two.

As he reads, though, the tension slowly and almost imperceptibly creeps back into his body. It's only when he takes a break to get some air on the balcony that Draco can stretch his arms and work out the strain. It's also when he takes the time to think about why he's so worked up.

He decides it's Potter almost automatically—it will _always_ be Potter. And Draco's mind can't help but drift back to their talk about Yetis earlier. Draco realises he is more bothered about Potter's agitation surrounding the lone Yeti than he thought he was. What he can't figure out is why.

Just as he'd said to Potter, why does it matter?

~

The following day Draco and Potter head straight back to where they left off the previous afternoon. Luna told them last night to go without her; she was sleeping in late, attempting to conserve energy for more late night trips into the forest.

Once they're back on the mountain they pick up the Yeti's track easily and follow them for less than an hour before they find the Yeti once more. Just like yesterday, the Yeti is alone. This time it is sitting under the shelter offered by an overhanging rock, entertaining itself with a small branch and making marks in the snow.

Draco and Potter hang back, mostly out of sight, and observe the Yeti quietly. Mostly, though, Draco observes Potter observing the Yeti. Potter is quiet, his breath visible in the cold air, but silent, and his attention is completely focused on the Yeti, despite the lack of diversity in the Yeti's actions.

After about half an hour, Potter pulls a small notebook from one of his pockets and begins making notes. He stops for long periods, attention focused on the Yeti, before looking back down at his notebook and writing a little more.

Twice Potter turns to catch Draco watching him, but before Draco has time to react himself, Potter turns quickly away and looks down at his notebook. Draco can repress a smile and shake his head slightly in wonder. With that reaction, anyone would think Potter had been the one caught staring at Draco.

~

That afternoon Potter is quiet on their walk around to check the barriers. The way his eyes are trained on the ground in front of him while so clearly not seeing it makes it obvious his attention is turned inward; that there is something on his mind. So Draco leaves him to it, hoping to avoid another conversation about lonesome Yetis.

While they cook, Potter is more present, but is still quiet. The occasional, “Can you pass me the knife please?” and “How much water in this?” is all Draco gets out of him. But now his eyes are focused and really looking, and what they are looking at is Draco. Draco feels Potter looking at him so much, he's almost surprised that Potter doesn't pull out his notebook and start scribbling.

It's not until the evening, after they have eaten with Luna (who was having breakfast) and waved her off on her evening outing, that Potter finally lets himself loosen up enough to talk. They are relaxing in the living room with a cup of tea. Draco is coming to the end of his current book, and Potter is going over his notebook.

“Are you lonely?” asks Potter, dropping his notebook to his lap.

Draco is a little taken aback by the question, which seems to have come from nowhere. “No, I'm not lonely. Why?”

“You've lived here all by yourself, day after day. For years. Don't you miss England? People? Your friends?” Potter sounds so earnest and so open.

Draco can't help the burst of laughter that escapes him. “Not at all.”

Potter looks baffled and more than a little pained. Draco can only share in Potter's bafflement. He doesn't know why this is affecting Potter so much, but he knows he wants to remove the look of hurt from his face.

“Luna visits,” Draco points out.

“Once a year,” counters Potter.

“For an entire month every year. Besides, who'd want her more than that?” Draco grins, but Potter's pinched mouth and narrowed eyes tell Draco this isn't the right audience. “I was joking, bloody hell. Luna's about the one person I can stand for longer than 24 hours—and _don't_ give me that look.” Draco pre-empts Potter's pout. “I'm standing you, okay?”

“Do you ever see anyone else?”

“Of course. Pansy and I see each other twice a year. She comes here for a day or two in the spring, just as the forest is blooming, and I visit her in London some time in winter. The only way I can stand England now is when it's covered in snow. I stay for a maximum of 24 hours and I hate every second of it. Pansy always tries to manipulate me into staying longer, but I never do.

“And then they are my parents. They moved out of England even before I did. They weren't running to anything; they were only running away. They're in New Zealand, and I visit them for birthdays and Christmas and such.” Draco finishes with a shrug. He's more than content with his life, but somehow, saying it out loud, he fears it's not enough. Not not enough for himself—he knows it is. But, not enough for Potter. Not that Potter's opinion on Draco's life matters—he _knows_ that... yet, still.

“New Zealand?” is Potter's only reaction.

Draco smiles and lets out a puff of laughter through his nose. “New Zealand. It reminded them just enough of the English countryside to be familiar. I'm pretty sure most days, if they don't leave the house, they imagine they're still in Wiltshire. Still indefinably rich. Still influential.”

Neither of them speaks for a while. Draco is caught up in bitter feelings surrounding his parents and their inability to move on with their lives. Potter simply gazes out the window into the dusk's falling light.

“More tea, I think,” announces Draco.

When he comes back into the living room with a mug of tea in each hand, he plonks himself down next to Potter on the sofa. Determined to drive the negative thoughts of his parents from his mind, he decides to more fully share with Potter his own reasons for leaving England.

“I'm a better person this way.”

Potter glances sideways at Draco with a sceptically raised eyebrow as he blows on his tea.

“I've never played well with others, Potter.” Draco feels like he's stating the obvious, but ploughs on nonetheless. “For so much of my life I played a part. Son, friend, student, menace. I never understood the world as other people seem to. I didn't understand people's motivations—I thought they were playing parts, just like I was.

“When I was finally mature enough, wise enough, to stop and think about what I wanted, not what I was suppose to want, I came to realise I had such simple desires in life. It seemed everyone wants so, _so_ much. Money, possessions, power; friendship, admiration, love; gatherings, conversations, connections. I found I didn't need those things. I didn't even want those things. They didn't make me happy. To me they had been distractions, attempts to fill a void, a waste of my time. I didn't want grand, meaningless, empty things to fill my life with.

“I figured all that out in Tibet. When I left I just knew I wasn't happy in England. I wondered if it was to do with the war, how I perceived myself, how I perceived other people perceiving me—I wondered if I, like my parents, was running away.”

Potter is silently sipping his tea, listening avidly. Draco sees no harm in continuing.

“When the job here came up, I went for it. I knew I at least had to try. Being on my own, living and working alone. Spending my time as peacefully as I liked. I needed to do it, to find out if that really was what I wanted—what I needed. I needed to be sure, in case I got sick and tired of it after a few months; in case it turned out I was having an existential crisis and only needed a period of time in which to take some space and assess myself and my life. In which case I could go back and simply slip back into my old life.”

At these words Potter physically perks up. He lowers his tea and looks hopefully at Draco.

“So you'd consider moving back? To England.”

Draco wonders at the urgency in Potter's voice, fearing the hopefulness he hears there, too. It shouldn't mean what it seems to.

He shakes his head. “No. I've been here for four years now. I'm settled—this is it. This is what I need. This is my life.” Draco hesitates. He wonders if his next words would be going too far, if they are even appropriate. But then he sees how the light has dimmed in Potter's eyes, how his mouth is slack with disappointment, and adds, “I'm sorry.”

Potter's eyes snap to Draco, now full of realisation and not a little fear. Draco expects Potter to get angry, defensive, but just like after their first unsuccessful day of Yeti hunting, Potter doesn't react the way Draco expects. Instead, he affects an overly casual air.

“Fine—it's fine,” Potter hurries to say. “It's your life, obviously, you can do what you want. I just don't understand it.” Potter swiftly goes back to his tea, and his notebook, and acts as though he wasn't just raptly listening to Draco sharing some of the most private and meaningful parts of his life and himself.

Draco ignores the now cold cup of tea he's barely touched. He stands and, without looking back at Potter or saying goodnight, walks to his bedroom and shuts the door.

~

Lying in bed, Draco doesn't sleep. He's looking up at the ceiling, but he doesn't see it. He sees Potter, the emotions that so freely played across his face until he realised Draco could see them—that Draco knew what they meant.

During his first few weeks living here in Annapurna, Draco had wondered—daydreamed—about this kind of situation. About someone showing up and begging him to return to England, about there being someone who missed him enough to want him to return. Despite that last night in England, it had never been Potter in his daydream. Draco had never even thought to imagine that Potter would miss him, would want him—it was so utterly unfathomable.

But now?

~

It is early the next morning when Draco wakes. Keen to push on with the day, rather than let his thoughts fester, he heads straight out to make himself a cup of tea and a round of toast. In the kitchen he finds Luna, back from her evening's expedition to the forest.

“Dinner?” Draco asks, indicating the bowl of pasta in front of Luna.

She nods. “Heading straight to bed after. I really want to get to know Bykoons, but they are exhausting. I was chasing them all over the forest most of the night.”

Draco smiles at the fondness and exasperation in Luna's voice. “You loved every minute of it, didn't you?”

“Yes!” Luna's grin is wide and, as tired as she looks, her eyes are filled with joy.

Once Luna has finished her dinner and headed to bed, Draco takes his cup of tea out on to the balcony. The breeze is cool and the sun is still low behind the trees. Draco breathes in the fresh morning air and listens to the sounds. The rustle of leaves, the bird song... and quietly, from back inside the house, Potter's snores.

Draco has had his morning cup of tea here alone and happily for the last four years. He loves it here. Even when he stops to consider Potter's questions the answer is easy and obvious. This place, this job—it makes him happy. Sipping slowly he allows himself to imagine moving. Going back to England, or moving on somewhere else. He can imagine it easily, but what he can't picture in those scenarios is his own contentment, or the happiness that he has found here in Annapurna.

Ultimately his thoughts only confirm that this is where he belongs. He no longer daydreams about someone begging him to return, about someone wanting him to. That was simply a part of moving away from one life and embracing another. He doesn't need anyone to miss him; it was never really about that. This is where Draco wants to be, and no amount of want from or towards another person will change that. If someone wants Draco... well—

Wrapped up in his thoughts, Draco jumps when he hears footsteps behind him. His grip tightens on his almost empty mug, but loosens when Potter moves out on to the balcony beside him.

“I'm sorry about last night,” Potter speaks quietly, but even over the early morning sounds of the forest, Draco hears him perfectly. “I just—I don't want you to misunderstand me.”

When Draco speaks, it is just as quietly. “I don't think I misunderstood.”

Potter lets out a quiet, resigned sigh. “That night... and then you left. Was it—was it me? Were you running away from me?”

“No.” Draco turns to face Potter, desperate to make this clear to him. “No, not at all. It was already arranged. I had a Portkey to Malaysia already arranged for first thing in the morning. I was only out that night for a few farewell drinks.”

“Alone?”

“I wasn't alone for long.” Draco keeps his voice light, hoping for a smile from Potter. It doesn't work.

“So you were looking for a one night stand?” Potter is indignant.

“I wasn't looking for anything.” Draco tries to soothe him. “But you—you found me anyway.”

“But it was never more than a one off for you?” Potter sounds placated, but cautious.

“It never entered my mind to think that it could be anything else. I was leaving the next day and, well...” Draco trails off, assuming the rest to be obvious.

“And well what?” Apparently it's not.

“It was you. You and me. Potter and Malfoy. A few drinks, some coy smiles and a shag is more than we were ever supposed to be.”

“Is that really all it meant to you?”

“That's all it _could_ mean.”

“Why? Because of who we are?”

Draco lifts one shoulder and tips his head to the side in pained agreement with Potter's words.

“And who are we, exactly? The people everyone else takes us for? The people others expect us to be? I thought that wasn't who you were, or wanted to be.”

“ _Now_.” Draco hastens to clarify. “That's not who I am now. But then—then I had only realised that I didn't have to be what everyone else thought I was. I was leaving because I wanted the opportunity to be what I wanted to be.”

“Okay, so.” Potter seems to be warming to his words, and they come with more speed and urgency. “It's five years later. Who are you? What are _we_ any more? What could we allow ourselves to be, now?”

Draco honestly doesn't know—he's never considered it before. He's changed, could Potter have? Could what they are supposed to be have changed? In lieu of a better answer, Draco shakes his head and shrugs. He drains his tea and, without saying anything, leaves.

~

The next few days pass, to an external eye, just like any others. The conversation on the balcony may as well never have happened—they do not discuss it. They carry on as normal; they follow and observe the Yeti, Potter joins Draco on his rounds to check the magical barriers of Annapurna, they cook together, they sit together in the evenings, reading, writing and even playing a few games of Exploding Snap.

But something is not the same between them. Draco takes the time to really watch Potter, and Potter seems much more subdued. In the mountains he pays little attention to the Yeti he was so keen to meet, during their walks in the afternoons he keeps to banal small talk with Draco, and the cooking is all efficient and business-like.

Only in the evenings is anything remotely normal between them; they chat easily, share a drink or two and laugh freely. And on reflection, Draco realises these moments are the most dissimilar to how they used to be; how he'd believed they were _supposed_ be. Draco realises that he and Potter have already changed.

Despite the unease between them for most of the day, Draco can't help but notice, now that he's looking, how easily and how seamlessly Potter has managed to insert himself into Draco's life. More amazingly, Draco notices how much he doesn't mind.

As Draco sips his morning cup of tea on the balcony, he listens to Potter's snores drifting out to him, how they mingle seamlessly with the breeze through the trees and the bird song. While Draco walks through Annapurna with Potter chatting beside him, he has to take a few minutes to remember what he used to think about while taking the walk alone. When Draco is in the kitchen cooking, he manoeuvres around Potter to grab pans and find ingredients, and wonders what he did with all the space when Potter wasn't there. When he thinks of his routine without Potter being a part of it, he finds it already feels odd.

One evening, Draco sits holding a book in one hand and a thumb of whisky in the other. He occasionally brings the whisky to his face to smell it, but he is neither drinking nor reading. He's watching Potter. Potter is absorbed in his own book—for once it's not about Yetis; he's borrowed one of Draco's. He is sitting in his usual place on the sofa. The place Draco is starting to think of as 'Potter's spot'.

Unprovoked, his mind wanders back to the first night Potter slept there. So relaxed in sleep. Draco recalls how his eyes had wandered Potter's body, mapping it in more detail than a casual glance would have allowed. He had been letting himself think back to that one night they had shared together, how he had explored that body with more than his eyes.

But it hadn't been simply the physical pleasure of that night he had been remembering. Draco had been thinking about how he had felt. How letting himself go, how putting himself in Potter's hands, while he had Potter in his own, had felt so natural. How taking shared pleasure in each other, how looking each other in the eye as they worked their way up, how holding their foreheads together as they came down, had felt so intense. How waking in the early hours and watching Potter sleep before sneaking off to catch his Portkey had been easy, but somehow, also, regretful.

Draco sits, looking at Potter while ignoring his book and his drink, coming to the realisation that maybe... now he's let himself think about it, now he's tried daydreaming about it... that maybe he's liked Potter all along.

~

It takes less than 24 hours for Draco to process his own thoughts and feelings. After coming to understand his feelings while watching Potter over an undrunk tumbler of whisky, it's the following afternoon when he finally decides to confesses his thoughts to Potter.

They are walking through the bare rhododendron trees, checking the magical barriers as usual, when Draco knows he has to speak.

“I've been thinking,” Draco starts.

“Is that a wise idea?” Potter attempts a weak joke, but in the heavy mood Draco's words have created, it falls flat.

After a silent pause, Potter asks, “What were you thinking about?”

“Us,” says Draco.

This stops Potter in his tracks, and he turns to look at Draco.

“More specifically,” Draco continues, “how I feel about us—you.”

“And?” Potter's voice is light, but firm, and he pointedly looks away from Draco as he waits for an answer. He seems to be keen to hear what Draco has to say, while consciously not getting his hopes up.

“I'd just never considered it before, that I _could_ consider it. Me and you and feelings beyond the antagonistic or physical? That just never entered my mind.”

“And now?” Potter pushes.

“Now I have considered it and... it wasn't just sex.” Draco can hear Potter takes a sharp breath. He carries on. “I do have feelings for you. Feelings tied to, but also beyond, the physical feelings we shared that night.”

Potter is looking at Draco now, hopeful, though still holding his breath, and Draco fears Potter will turn blue and pass out if he doesn't hurry up and finish what he has to say.

“But regardless of my feelings about you, this—we—can't happen. I'm—”

“Draco, no.” Potter lets out his words desperately on the breath he's been holding. “You're not, and I'm not. We're not whatever it is you think we are, what the world expects us to be. We can—”

“I know. Potter—Harry—I know. It's not that. It's me. The me I want to be, here, in Annapurna.”

Potter frowns and shakes his head, clearly unable, or unwilling, to comprehend.

“This is my world, my happiness, and that means more to me than I can truly express. Who I am here, what I do here, how I live here—I'm not leaving. Not for anyone.” He pauses to look at Potter, who stares straight back at him, almost as though he is waiting for Draco to say it. So Draco does. “Not for you.”

With those words, Draco watches as Potter's eye harden.

“This is your happiness?” Potter's voice is dispassionate, and Draco takes a steadying breath. “Don't you see you're giving up on an even bigger chance of happiness? If you were willing to move to Annapurna to see if it was what you wanted, why are you not willing to move back to England to see if _I'm_ what you want? If _I_ could make you happy?”

“When I moved to Annapurna I had had nothing to lose—I wasn't leaving anything behind.”

“You left me behind,” Potter points out.

“It wasn't like that, and you have to know it.”

When Potter just folds his arms and turn away, Draco feels his own frustration rising.

“You came all the way out here to see a Yeti, but you respected it enough to meet it on its own terms. You didn't approach it, didn't disturb its life—didn't drag it back to England to throw it in a zoo. But me? You've come here, inserted yourself into my life, interfered with it. If you dragged me back—Potter, England is my zoo.”

Draco works himself up, unable to prevent the rapid rising and falling of his chest in his attempt to make Potter _get it_. He at least receives Potter's attention, as he turns back to look at Draco.

“And I would only end up resenting you for it. Whatever we might have had would die, along with my happiness, if I moved back to England.”

They stand there in the middle of the forest staring at each other for what feels like a long time.

Eventually, Potter looks away with a small shake of his head and a quiet, “Okay.” He doesn't sound convinced, but he's at least accepted Draco's choice.

They continue on their walk around the forest together, but do not speak again.

~

The last few days of Potter and Luna's visit pass awkwardly. Draco and Potter are more than amicable, friendly even, but their conversations are light, about nothing too important, and are often short. With Luna now seeming to have abandoned a schedule altogether, Draco can never be sure when she will be around, but when she is, she is inserted as a buffer to the awkwardness between himself and Potter. Luna can tell something is off between Draco and Potter, and obviously doesn't like being in the middle of it.

This is made abundantly clear when, on their last evening, Luna announces she is going for a wander to say goodbye to as many animals as she can find.

“I'll be gone a good few hours or more. Whatever's going on here—” She points back and forth between Draco and Potter. “—had better be sorted out by the time I get back.” She then places her hands firmly on her hips, and looks, for Luna, highly unimpressed.

Draco and Potter both speak up to deny Luna's words.

“Nothing's going on—” argues Draco.

“I don't know what you're—” attempts Potter.

“I don't want to hear it,” Luna interrupts. “Just, talk to each other, okay?” Without waiting for a response she moves over to Draco.

“You know we're leaving early, so in case I don't see you again tonight.” She bends to give Draco an odd and uncomfortable hug, which he returns to the best of his cramped and seated ability. Then Luna pulls back and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for having me, I'll be in touch. And do expect me again next year.”

She steps back, gives Potter a brief wave and a hard look, before turning to leave the tree house.

A few moments pass before Potter stands.

“Well, we'd better do as the lady asks.” A pause. “Demands. Whisky okay with you?”

Draco nods while wondering if Potter chose whisky on purpose, or if he simply fancied it.

When Potter sits back down in his spot, he has two tumblers and Draco's best bottle of whisky.

“It's a bit fancier than the stuff we drank that night, but it'll do.”

It was on purpose, then.

With an internal sigh, Draco supposes they should get it over with—get it out. He stands and moves to sit beside Potter on the couch.

“Of course it's better than the shit they serve at the Leaky. What do you expect?” Draco asks as Potter pours them both a generous helping.

“Expect from you or the Leaky?”

“Both.”

Potter hands Draco a glass and they clink them together.

“To one night of amazing sex,” is Potter's wry toast.

“I was pretty good, wasn't I?” Draco concedes.

“And modest, too.” Potter rolls his eyes, but he's smiling.

“I haven't changed completely, you know.”

“Oh, I know. You make just as much fun of me now as you did that night, as you've done since school.”

“I never made fun of you at school—I offered insight into your character. And fashion sense, and choice of friends, and hair styles, and—”

“Thank you,” Potter interrupts Draco's very long list, “for your caring advice. I see now that you only ever had my best interests at heart.”

“I'm glad you've matured enough to realise that. I wasn't sure that would ever happen.”

“You're a git.”

“A helpful git,” Draco amends with fake sincerity.

Potter laughs into his glass as he takes a drink.

“I made you laugh into your whisky that night, too,” Draco recalls.

“That you did.” Potter's eyes are soft and far away, now. “You also made me spill my drink, when you put your hand on my knee and slid it up the inside of my thigh.”

Draco can feel his heartbeat increase with the memory of it. “It was quite something, making you come undone so easily.”

“I never did get a replacement for that drink.”

“I think we decided there were better things to do.”

“When was that?” Potter asks.

“About the time you put your hand on the back of my neck and pulled me close.” Draco can still feel the shiver that gave him, when he closes his eyes and pictures the scene.

When he opens his eyes, Potter is looking straight at him. Draco's mind flashes forwards to later that night, when they had moved together, breathing into each other's mouths. From the intense look in his eyes, Draco wonders if Potter is thinking about the same thing.

He doesn't get a chance to ask, though, because he's distracted by Potter leaning forward. Their eyes are locked, and Potter's are full of the intense want that Draco feels. Without giving it any thought, Draco feels himself leaning forward too.

They pause, faces a breath apart. A breath that Draco feels across his lips before they are pressed against Potter's.

Their half-drunk glasses are quickly abandoned on the coffee table, their hands now needed for more pressing business. And press they do. Draco feels Potter's hands—one at his elbow and one at the back of his neck. Draco shivers, just like he remembered, as one of his own hands grips Potter's shoulder while the other finds the inside of his thigh.

Soon their hands are gripping clothing and Draco is pulling Potter to his feet. One of them bumps into the coffee table, causing their glasses of whisky to clang together, but neither of them pause to care.

Guiding the way, Draco pulls Potter closer, while at the same time pushing him towards his bedroom door. Their lips never part, and Draco can't be sure they're even breathing. Then he registers the heavy pants and moans that reach his ears, and he starts pulling a little harder and pushing a little faster.

By the time they make it through the door to Draco's bedroom, Potter's hands are halfway up Draco's shirt and Draco's has one hand inside Potter's trousers and the other tangled in Potter's hair. And he still has a leg free to kick the door closed behind them.

For the next couple of hours, memories of their last night together are forgotten. Instead, they make new ones.

It is much later, as they lay naked, sweaty and spent, that Draco falls asleep to the familiar sound of Potter's snores from right beside him.

~

When Draco wakes the next morning he lays looking as the sunlight plays through the trees, throwing shadows over his ceiling. He doesn't move for a long time. Long past the time he would usually be out on the balcony drinking his tea.

He doesn't need to look. He's familiar enough with the feeling of an empty bed to know when he is in one.

Potter and Luna are long gone; snuck out in the early hours of the morning.

Eventually, slowly, Draco gets out of bed. He moves through the living room quickly, not stopping to let his gaze catch the bare sofa.

He's done it so many times, he makes himself a cup of tea automatically, giving it no thought. Draco doesn't think about anything.

It's only when he's out on the balcony, grasping the warm mug between his hands, that he realises how wrong it all is. The breeze he feels is too mild, too warm. The forest is too quiet, the wind is not strong enough to have the leaves rustling loudly, the birds are too busy flying and feeding to be sitting around singing Draco songs.

Worst of all is the how the quietness of the forest only emphasises the lack of gentle snores drifting out from the living room.

Draco is the one who has been left behind this time, with no goodbye or explanation. He stands on the balcony, not drinking his tea. After he did this to Potter four years ago, he figures it's what he deserves.

~

After allowing himself one day to mope, Draco picks himself up and gets on with his life. He jumps straight back into his routine. He spends more time with the creatures of the forest, having spent so little time with them while he was up mountains for half of the last month. They are as friendly and welcoming as always, perhaps more so, for his absence.

Draco is fine. He's just as happy as he was before Potter showed up. Everything here in Annapurna is just as peaceful, relaxing, enjoyable and perfect as it was before. It's just... now Draco knows what _else_ he could have, and his happiness isn't quite as complete as it felt before.

Regardless, Draco does not regret his decision. A life here without Potter—without that kind of love—is preferable to a life in England with him, but without himself.

A few weeks pass, and Draco thinks he is starting to really move on. He only made tea for two twice in the evenings last week, and not once since. He's moved to the arm chair closest to the sofa, and is sure he'll be sitting in what _isn't_ Potter's spot any day now. And he's starting to believe it when he tells himself it's nice to have room in the kitchen when he cooks and time to think when he's out walking on his rounds.

Draco is fine.

Then Potter shows up.

~

After a cheerful afternoon with some of the forest animals on his rounds, Draco gets back to the tree house to find Potter pacing beside the rope ladder.

Potter obviously hears Draco's approach, because his head snaps up and he steps forward.

“I understand,” says Potter without preamble.

“You do?” Draco thinks, but comes up empty. “Understand what?” he asks.

“I can't say it's what I would want, obviously, but yeah, I understand.”

“I still don't know what you're talking about,” Draco reminds him. Potter is tense, and Draco's not sure he'll get much sense out of him until he calms down a little. “Do you want to come up for a cup of tea?”

Potter takes a breath and nods. “That would be nice, thank you.”

Once they're up the ladder, they pause briefly in the living room. Draco's eyes flit to the sofa and his mind goes back the last time they sat there. When he turns back, Potter is looking at him. The moment hangs awkwardly between them for a few seconds, before they wordlessly agree to take their drinks in the kitchen.

As Draco pours the tea, Potter sits down at the table. Draco can't help but remember the other times Potter has been in this kitchen, cooking and washing up and standing close to Draco. Before his mind gets carried away with the memories he has been trying to put behind him, Draco scrambles for something to say.

“So, how have you been?” he asks Potter.

“Fine. I've been fine. You?”

Draco has to wonder if Potter has been fine the same way he has. “Fine,” echoes Draco as he places Potter's mug down on the table.

“That's... fine.”

“Now we've got the uncomfortable greetings out of the way, you can explain to me what you understand.” Draco remains standing, leaning back against the counter. He holds his tea in front of him, looking down into it instead of meeting Potter's eye.

In his periphery, Draco sees Potter lift one shoulder and give a half smile. “I suppose I should have said hello first.”

Draco takes a sip of his tea, expectant but refusing to push.

“This,” Potter makes a sweeping motion with his arms, taking in their surroundings. “I understand this, this place—you.” He settles his hands either side of his mug on the table while keeping his eyes on Draco. “I've seen you here, over that month, and it's obvious how much this place—the tree house, the forest, the animals, the job—how much it all means to you, how at ease you are, how at home you are.” A pause. “How happy you are.”

Draco gives Potter a small smile and a slight shake of his head. “It took you all this time to figure it out? Maybe it's because I live it, but it seems obvious.”

“In hindsight, yeah, it is obvious,” Potter concedes. Then he takes a deep breath but only holds it long enough to compose himself. “It's just—you'd told me you had feelings for me. You gave me the thing I think I'd been secretly hoping for since that night—since you left. And then, in the next second, you snatched it away again. I was upset. Crushed.” He pushes his cooling mug of tea away, forgotten, instead focusing on getting his words out. “In that moment I didn't want to understand why you wouldn't leave—I just wanted you. But, as much as I might have wanted otherwise, I should never have asked you to leave all this behind, for me.”

Draco puts his own full mug of tea on the table and says, “Was that an apology?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, thank you. It actually means a lot, to be understood.” As he speaks, Draco moves across the kitchen to the balcony, taking a step outside. He hears the scrape of chair legs across the floor that indicates that Potter is following him. “As much as other people—Pansy, my parents—accepted my choice to live and work alone out here in Annapurna, they've never taken the time to understand it.”

They stand side by side on the balcony, looking out at the forest. Winter is on its way, and though they are bathed in sun there is a chill in the air. Draco can feel the heat of Potter standing close beside him.

“It wasn't just an apology,” says Potter.

“Well, what else was it?”

“A declaration of sorts.”

“Just say what you mean, Potter.”

They seem to be standing even closer now, as Potter turns to look directly at Draco.

“What I mean is, that it turns out I can Apparate all they way here from London.” A hopeful corner of Potter's lips lifts. “If I started visiting Annapurna regularly, would you get sick of me?”

The smile that crosses Draco's face is unbidden, but welcome. He turns so he is facing Potter, their chests warm and pressed close.

“Only one way to find out.”

The remaining distance between them closes and their lips meet. Draco can't help but wonder if Potter's snoring will drift out to the balcony from the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or [on Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/83398.html).


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